


Off Book

by d_b_w



Category: White Collar
Genre: Bladder Control, Desperation Play, Golden shower, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Verbal Humiliation, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-05-26 13:05:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6240433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d_b_w/pseuds/d_b_w
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal holds his piss for Peter. Peter likes it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Off Book

**Author's Note:**

  * For [citrinesunset](https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrinesunset/gifts).



It started at the office. A break in the case sent them rushing out the door. Neal felt the urge while waiting for the elevator, and motioned back to the restrooms. “I’m just gonna. . . I’ll catch up.”

Peter growled at him. “No time. You can wait.” And then he pulled Neal into the elevator by the elbow.

They got their con, but it took hours, and by the end of the chase Neal was hanging onto his control by a thread. When Neal finally heard the cuffs lock he gave Peter what he could feel was a too-manic smile. “You’ve got this, right? So I’ll be right back,” with a head tilt toward the gas station on the corner.

Peter furrowed his brow, eyes flicking across Neal’s face and body quickly looking for clues. Neal thought he was maintaining a decent semblance of ease, but knowledge clicked in Peter’s expression anyway.

He chuckled and waved dismissively. “Yeah, go ahead. You’ve waited long enough.”

Unloading into a filthy urinal a few minutes later, Neal shivered in reaction. In relief, yes; but also in pleasure at the warmth in Peter’s voice, the knowledge that he had done exactly as Peter ordered.

It was a struggle to button his fly when he was done, and despite Neal’s deliberately casual stride Peter didn’t miss his arousal. He didn’t say anything about it though. Not yet.

* * *

It escalated during a dinner at the Burkes’. Elizabeth had gone into the kitchen to get dessert and Neal, who had been drinking too freely from the excellent bottle of wine, pushed himself back from the table.

“I’ll be right back.”

Peter’s hand shot out to stop him, grip firm on Neal’s forearm.

“No way. My dessert’s not waiting for you to get back.”

It was ridiculous. Neal was only going to be in the bathroom for a second. But he found himself sitting back down without complaint, thighs pressed tight together under the cover of the table.

Dessert was delicious, as was the sweet golden wine Elizabeth brought out with it. Neal refrained from squirming, mostly because he didn’t need the extra stimulation of his boxers rubbing across the head of his half-hard cock.

When Elizabeth was clearing the dessert dishes, Peter got up from the table and ducked into the half bath in the hall. Neal didn’t want to listen, but all the Burkes’ interior doors were hollow, so he heard everything: the toilet lid being lifted, pants being unzipped, the sigh that preceded the thin, fast stream of liquid hitting the water. It went on for what felt like an eternity, and Neal found himself rocking a little in his chair, bladder aching.

Finally he heard the flush, the creaky tap and the rush of water for hand-washing. He consciously relaxed his fists and placed his hands palm-down on the table; it wasn’t a relaxed pose but it was the best he could do. His knee bounced and he was grateful he had chosen soft-soled shoes tonight, so his tapping was near-silent.

He couldn’t stop his eyes from darting to Peter as Peter emerged. Peter’s returning gaze was heavy, considering. When he reached the table again he smiled faintly, filthily.

“Your turn.”

Neal didn’t have to be told twice; in a blink he was fumbling with his belt in front of the toilet, shifting his weight from foot to foot and biting his lip at being so close and yet still not able to find relief. At last he worked himself free, shivering at his own touch, and then his stream met the water, turning it yellow and foamy.

He swayed at the relief, and when he finally felt the weight in his abdomen dissipate and his stream putter out his arousal took over immediately, cock firming up in his hand even as he attempted to shake it clean.

There was no way he could go back out and face Peter, face Elizabeth, with this in his pants.

Face burning at the thought, he tore off a few sheets of toilet paper and brought himself to orgasm in record time, stomach churning with a potent mix of pleasure and embarrassment.

* * *

And then there came the stakeout.

They were off-book, staking out an oil magnate’s winter retreat upstate, no backup. The positive: it was a balmy spring day, so parking the car for hours on a shaded back road that overlooked the estate wasn’t going to lead to frostbite. The negative: Peter had gotten frustrated with Neal’s restless drumming on the dashboard and handcuffed him across the gearshift to the steering wheel.

Then he had gruffly ordered Neal to be silent and fallen asleep.

Of course Neal could have slipped the cuff. He was definitely within his rights to wake Peter up – Peter was the federal agent, after all.

But the command in Peter’s voice, the strength of Peter’s hands as he locked the cuff around Neal’s wrist across his own body, they were irresistible. Neal found himself zoning just a little, attention rapt on the house below but mind quiet for the first time all day.

He wasn’t sure how long he drifted like that. His shoulder started to ache from the stretch across the car; he ignored it. His mouth was bone dry, and his stomach felt hollowed out with hunger; he ignored that too.

What he couldn’t ignore was the growing pressure a little lower in his abdomen, or the way his cock had begun to harden at the sensation.

But Peter had ordered him to stay still, to be quiet, and damn did Neal want to be able to do that for him.

So he slowed his breathing, shifted into a slightly easier position, and focused, concentrating so hard on the weight of fluid in his bladder, the pinch in his sphincter from holding it back, that the pain turned into white noise, filling his head with static.

He lost all track of time. He could spare no attention for the house below; his entire world had narrowed down to the need to hold back, to wait. Every muscle in his body was drawn tight, and the beat of his pulse in his groin was simultaneously hypnotic and maddening.

An eternity later, a sound broke through his focus. It was like swimming upstream to make his brain make sense of the sound, but eventually it resolved into—

“Neal.”

Neal blinked, and then his body was clamoring at him. Everything _hurt_ , and thankfully Peter had already unhooked the cuff because if Neal hadn’t brought his hands down to squeeze his cock right then he would have spurted piss all over the car.

“Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck—“

Neal was nearly hyperventilating, eyes squeezed tight. Then there was another hand on his crotch, prying his fingers open, and though he held on as hard as he could he started to pee. First one long gush that he could hear rush into the cloth of his pants then, through superhuman restraint, he slowed it to little dribbles and slashes, nothing like the relief his bladder was screaming for.

The hands were still fumbling at his crotch, but he couldn’t spare the attention to figure out what they were doing, just let out a hiccupping whimper when one brushed against his distended abdomen and forced more urine out into his sopping pants. Then he felt cool air against his tip and helplessly began to gush again. He braced for the sound of urine hitting the floor mat, body flaming in humiliation, but instead it sounded like – plastic.

Neal opened one eye cautiously to see that Peter had grabbed an empty water bottle from the back seat and was holding Neal’s cock to its mouth, ready to catch the spurts he was still helplessly voiding. It was safe so Neal gave up, relaxed the horrible torturous tension at his core, let himself chase the relief rather than hold it back.

It sounded thunderous in the small car, a faucet turned on full blast, and Neal wanted it to go on forever.

He sat there, stunned, helpless to focus on anything but how good it felt. He watched the bottle fill rapidly, but didn’t think about what that meant until suddenly Peter’s hands, previously cradling his cock so gently, pinched off his flow.

“No, no, no, no, no—“

He sounded panicky to his ears, voice high and tight and thick with tears, frantic at the thought of having to hold it again, he still had so much _more_ inside, clamoring to get out.

Peter just kept his grip tight in one hand while he gingerly set the full bottle down in the cupholder, then grabbed another bottle and moved it back into the proper position. Then he let go and Neal was gushing again, stream wide enough that it didn’t all fit in the small mouth, sliding down the sides of the bottle and all over Peter’s hands.

Finally, finally he felt the horrible ache begin to dissipate, and his stream grew thin and uneven. He bore down, eager to get the last of it out, to feel that blessed emptiness. A few more bursts, his cock twitching in Peter’s hand, and then Neal was done.

In the silence, Neal could hear the grind of plastic against plastic as Peter screwed the caps back on the bottles. He was wet, ashamed, and his erection was hard enough to hammer nails. Neal closed his eyes again, not wanting to see whatever look was on Peter’s face.

“Really, Neal.”

The disappointment in Peter’s voice rang heavily in Neal’s ears, and he felt himself blush harder. It had no effect on Neal’s erection, still stiffly upright through Neal’s open fly.

His mouth started running off without Neal consciously giving it leave to. “We’ve been here for _hours_ , Peter, and you cuffed me and then _fell asleep_ —“

“You’ll notice I’ve been here exactly as long as you have, Neal, and I haven’t wet myself like a child. You’re thirty-four years old, you should be better than this.”

Oh God, the censure in Peter’s voice was making Neal harder, his arousal a heavy throb in his blood, nearly as mind-numbing as his desperation had been.

“My bladder is full too, but I’m not sitting here clutching myself and whimpering, leaking all over the car. I can wait until the appropriate time and place.”

Every word made the shame twist tighter in Neal’s gut. The tip of his cock was growing wet again, this time with pre-come.

Peter gave an audible sniff. “I’m not going to sit in your mess, though. We’ll go back to the motel, get you cleaned up, and come back. Put yourself away.”

Neal kept his eyes shut for the drive back, focused on the pulse in his cock, the stream of cold air on his face when Peter cracked Neal’s window. His face was wet, eyes still leaking tears though Neal felt almost calm, breathing hard but steady.

He had to open them when they reached the motel; Peter held him by the bicep and steered him inside, and Neal kept his eyes on the cracked pavement at his feet.

“Shoes and belt off, then get in the shower.”

Neal looked down at himself, the obvious wet patch at his crotch distended by his still-insistent erection. The suit was definitely still salvageable, but Peter had been very specific about what to take off, and Neal couldn’t bring himself to disobey.

He didn’t have to wait in the shower long. Peter pushed the door open forcefully then just leaned against the jamb, eyes raking Neal up and down.

“You are _filthy_ , Neal.”

Neal felt his blush return, and clenched his fists against the desire to rub himself through his pants. He didn’t think he’d ever been this turned on before.

“I’m going to make you filthier.”

And then Peter was stepping closer to the tub and unzipping his pants, taking out a very impressive erection of his own. He tugged on it a few times, took up a very familiar stance, and without any other warning he began to piss.

Directly onto Neal.

It was burning hot, stream focused like a laser, and it smelled awful, like the coffee they’d drunk earlier. Neal flinched back instinctively but Peter’s free hand shot out to grab him.

“Nope. You couldn’t contain yourself, so now you get an object lesson in the benefit of control.” And then his stream started flowing impossibly harder, drenching Neal.

When Neal didn’t move again, Peter dropped his hand back to his side and tipped his head back, letting out a long, deeply satisfied groan.

“Fuck, that feels fantastic.”

Neal didn’t know where to look. Peter’s cock was right there in front of him, slit spread by the force of his stream. Neal wanted to touch it, wanted to kneel in front of it and get his mouth all over it, even as it continued to soak him.

But Peter’s face, that was far more dangerous. Completely open, wearing such hedonistic pleasure that Neal couldn’t stop his hand from dropping down to squeeze his own arousal. The long line of his neck, the square strength of his shoulders – Neal wanted him, wanted everything he was willing to give.

He took another aborted step, this time towards Peter, and again Peter’s hand shot out to stop him. His eyes, when they met Neal’s, were filled with dark, delighted knowledge.

“How many times I have to tell you no, Neal? Your job right now is just to stand there and take this.”

He waggled his still-flowing penis, the stream rising up to soak through Neal’s shirt at the chest, turning the fine white cotton translucent. Neal groaned at that, the heat, the renewed scent, and squeezed himself harder.

“Peter, please, let me—“

He didn’t even know what he was asking for, but Peter shook his head again.

“This is for me, Neal. You’re gonna do exactly what I want, and what I want is for you to wear me.”

Neal bit his lip, his eyes slipping closed again. His balls were drawn up tight, heavy and full, and Peter’s piss seemed to go on endlessly. Every panted breath brought more of Peter’s scent into Neal’s lungs, and it was all too much.

Neal shouted his orgasm, messing his pants again, knees trembling as he swayed but kept himself upright. Peter’s murmured “So fucking filthy” sounded very far away.

As he was shuddering through the aftershocks, Peter’s flow finally came to a stop. Neal opened his eyes just in time to watch Peter push him to his knees.

“And now you’ll take this too.” Peter pushed his cock into Neal’s very willing mouth.

It tasted like piss, and sweat, and Neal’s mouth watered. He started to suck but Peter just brought his hands up to hold Neal’s head and thrust in deep, and Neal had to focus on breathing through it and not gagging. All Peter seemed to want was a warm wet hole, and Neal could do that.

He zoned out again as Peter used his mouth, body still sending out conflicting messages of achiness and satisfaction. It wasn’t long before Peter was pulling back, using his hand to finish and coming on Neal’s face with a grunt and a sigh.

In the silence after, Neal could hear Peter’s piss slowly trickling down the drain.

Finally, Peter stepped back and zipped himself back up. Then he lifted Neal back to his feet, steadying him when his shaky legs didn’t want to hold his weight. Neal opened his eyes carefully and was met with Peter’s wry grin.

He stretched out a hand to turn on the shower. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up for real.”


End file.
